


Collection of content

by CallMeV



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas, Salvation (TV), Snatch (TV 2017), Snowpiercer (2013), Star Trek: Picard, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Albert is a criminal as always, Aramis has problems, Aramis!Whump, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But Albert isn't good at maths, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Emotions, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Modern AU, Prostitute Aramis, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whump, agent Athos, agent Porthos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeV/pseuds/CallMeV
Summary: Basically just one-shots and drabbles over my favorite Shows, Scenes and Characters.Chapters1) Snowpiercer (Grey aka Luke Pasqualino)2) Musketeers (Aramis, Porthos, Athos)3-5) Musketeers (Aramis, Porthos, Athos)6) Snatch (Albert Hill aka Luke Pasqualino)7) Musketeers (Athos, Aramis)8) Snowpiercer
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. Snowpiercer

**Author's Note:**

> So this first drabble takes place in the Snowpiercer Universe and circles around the character Grey, played by Luke Pasqualino.
> 
> I don't really now what this is or where it came from, but I hope it brings you some joy... Or pain. 
> 
> Reviews and Kudos are always welcomed.

There were only a few moments of his life which he rembered clearly. Only a few hours, or maybe even only minutes, that cut so deeply into his life that they burned themselves on his mind. But most of his life was a blurr, the one day vanishing into the other without a change, without something happening. He knew nothing of his first years of life. Of course, children forget. But it was not only the normal memory loss of any human but the loss of any one who could tell him something about his earlier years. Gilliam had found him when he was around four years old - no one knows where he had been before. No one seemed to remember his parents or him as a baby, or maybe they chose to forget. All he knew was that his tongue had been already cut out as Gilliam had found him. So no one ever bothered to try to teach him how to speak, it was useless.

Getting his first tattoo at the age of 7 is the first moment he still remembered clearly. It hurt, he was a sissy back then, crying soundlessly as the small nail was hammered in his skin again and again. His first tattoo wasn't his name or some word he could use often. It was 'Gilliam'.  
Grey did not chose it, Gilliam did. Deciding that a boy should be able to be brought back to the one responsible for him if he got lost. And Grey got lost often. Gilliam did not care, that Grey CHOSE to get lost. And he never really got lost for sure. He always knew where he was and how he could get back. The thing was, that Gilliam did not know where he was - therefor he was lost.  
After his first tattoo there were more coming, slowly covering his upper body and arms. He chose the back of his neck for the best place for his name. He did not need it that often. No one truly cared. And those who would care, knew it already.  
Inside there small group, Grey sometimes even felt important. He always sat by Gilliams side when they spoke about another revolt. And then his name was spoken more than anyone's else's. His chest swelled with pride when the others discussed the plans.  
"Grey could jump through-"  
"Grey will kill the Guards."  
"Grey could squeeze into-"  
"Grey would have to go alone-"  
"Grey is our best weapon."

He had thought it was something good. He hadn't understood then. Hadn't seen through their words and praise. These people fought for freedom and humanity and every fighter needed a weapon. He was theirs. And if the weapon would get lost during the fight, if it would not survive the battle, it would not be the worst thing to happen.

Then, he had worked and trained, climbed cots and fought Curtis. He ran through the confined spaces, squeezed underneath the sleeping places, sneaked through the passages and learned how to punch and kick. And he was good at it. The best, Gilliam said. And he had felt proud.  
He hadn't really cared that the other children did nothing of the things he did. Didn't care that they could count, play with a ball, or were cuddled at the end of another hard day. 

Another event he remembered was the revolt. He had been nervous, but couldn't show it. The others needed him. He had worked all his life for this day, he could not ruin it. Then, he still believed he fought this battle for himself, his own freedom.  
And so he did everything they asked him to.  
He killed the guard. It was the first life he had ever taken, and it had felt strangely satisfying. He enjoyed the applause and cheers of the crowd as he got the keys, the keys to their freedom.  
He believed they would remember his name after this. That he would be their hero. 

But not everything went as planned. 

Gilliam died. The only one who had ever cared for him, who had taught him, who had bothered with him. Gilliam was gone. And Grey cried again, like the seven year old boy he had once been. Silently sobbing, he caressed the face of the man that had took him in. But he could not linger. Gilliam has had a dream and he would fulfill it.

He kept fighting on until there was no one left to fight. They were done. There were no more soldiers willing to risk their life's. The last ones, around twenty men, surrendered once they saw the bloody mess that laid behind Grey. Curtis stood beside him, jsut as blood covered as he was. 

Grey turned around, away from the surrendering soldiers and towards the crowd. In between them and the him was a battlefield. Body's, barely recognizable as humans, blood dripping of the walls. And Grey grinned. They had won.

It was in the following days that Grey started to understand what he truly was for them. Without Gilliam, he was a no one to them. No one would bother to talk to someone who could not answer. No one asked for his name, they just referred to him with nicknames. But they never talked to him directly. Every now and then he overheard them whisper of the crazy boy, the silent boy, the psychopath. He felt their gazes burn into his skin. 

Curtis, the only one who seemed to care for him at least a little bit, once tried to explain it to him.  
"They're scared of how easily you killed all these soldiers. It didn't seem to bother you at all."

Grey didn't really understand that at first. Hasn't every one of them killed someone during the riot? But Grey hadn't seen himself, killing like he did it on a daily basis. Curtis had tried to explain this to him later too. He then understood. Understood that they hated him for what he was, for what THEY made him be. A weapon.  
And now, as they did not need this weapon anymore, they wanted to have it gone out of their sight, safely secured somewhere. 

It was only a few weeks after the riot that Grey went back to the tail of the train. He could have stayed in his own room in the third class, but he left. Back in the tail, there were no judging looks or hateful words. Only the memories to blurred, dull days, where sometimes his name was said as if it was something important.


	2. Musketeers - Modern au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay I don't know where this came from.
> 
> Apparently it takes places in the modern universe. Athos and Porthos had been ordered to get the resigned Musketeer Aramis back into the team for one last job. Aramis really doesn't want to go with them.

`"Are you sure we are at the right place?" Porthos frowned as he looked at the old, brown houses, where plaster crumbles from the walls and each entrance smells like a weird mix of urine and smoke.

Porthos knew this kind of places well, having grown up in a similar area like this. But now being a Musketeer after a successful career in the Armee he could not believe that a former comrade would be found here.  
Athos, who had grown up quiet differently to Porthos, shrugged and looked again on to the note in his hands as if he could have misread it.

"Our contact has been quiet clear about this."

"Then let's find out."  
The main door to the house stood slightly open, the residents possibly did not fear burglaries as there was not much to get in their flats.  
The bitter smell that had already greeted them in the entrance got worse the more stairs they climbed. Graffiti was sprayed on the walls and both Musketeers made sure to not touch the banister.

After climbing three staircases they reached the apartment with the number 7 clinging to its door.  
Athos knocked and they both waited patiently for a few moments.  
As now answer or footsteps came, he knocked again, this time more forcefully.

"Monsieur d'Herblay? Are you home?" Porthos asked at the same moment to show this guy that they were insistent on a talk.

As an answer they heard some rustling, something clattering to the floor, heavy footsteps and then with a quiet click, the door was opened just enough for Monsieur D'Herblay to peak through the slot.  
His eyes were drawn together in anger or annoyance, Porthos could not quiet tell. However he tried to stay as friendly and polite as possible. After all, this man once had been one of them.

"Monsieur d'Herblay, we're Agents de la Fere and du Vallon from the Musketeers. We're here because Captain Treville and our team need your assistance. We were told-"

"No." d'Herblay hissed and almost shutting the door in their faces, hadn't it been for the for thinking Athos, who had places his foot in between. D'Herblay looked down at the foot that stopped him from being alone again, annoyed.  
But he didn't try to close the door any longer, but he didn't open it anymore either. They were still left to communicate only with his eyes and disheveled dark hair.

"We would be very glad if you would at least let us explain." Athos offered, not pressing the man to do anything but listen.  
D'Herblay seemed reluctant but they had been warned that it would not going to be easy.

As the door on the other side of the hall was opened and a woman with three children went through it, Porthos turned around for a second before taking in d'Herblay again.

"Maybe we should speak about this inside. This is no talk for everyone to hear."

D'Herblay sighed, but he knew that two Musketeers that had come to his door, would not leave before they got what they wanted.  
So he took a step back from the door and walked towards the small kitchen table. He did not invite the men in, but he hadn't closed the door either, so both Musketeers took that as a sign to come in.

While Athos eyes were roaming over the sparse furniture and empty walls, the dirt on the few shelves and the untidyness in the room, (because that was what this flat was, a single room with one closed door that had to lead toward the bathroom), Porthos was focused on D'Herblay who he saw now for the first time in complete.  
The rest of his body fitted to the disheveled hair and tired eyes, which they have seen earlier. He was dressed in a worn out sweatshirt, that was at least one size too big for him, and sweatpants that hang loosely on his thing legs. The few places where skin could be seen it was pale and thin, blue veins visible underneath it.  
Porthos didn't miss the slight shake in d'Herblay's hands neither, as the man leaned against the kitchen table as casual as possible.

Porthos and Athos stayed in the middle of the room - the apartment - hands resting in their pockets as they both turned their full focus on D'Herblay as he began to speak.

"What do two shiny-new Musketeers want from a simple man like me?" Sacasm and annoyance dropped from his voice.

Of course it was Athos who answered, Athos who ignored the faint insult or the anger glistening in d'Herblay's eyes.

"We're working on a case. An quiet old one actually. And Treville send us to you, not only to get information, because apparently you've worked on this case before us, but also to execute the plan."

Both Athos and Porthos were still sceptical of this. The one thing was to get some information out of a former musketeer, but it was totally different thing to ask him to work for them as a sniper and completely rely on his skills. As bad as his hands shook, Porthos doubted this man could even load a rifle. But Trevilke had ordered them to get him and so they would do. It wasn't often that they questioned the Captains orders, but this one felt quite insane. The Musketeers were one of the best units in whole France and they had exceptional snipers.  
Athos and Porthos knew that their plan was their only chance to get the criminals, and that it was quite risky as the sniper would have only one opportunity and his shot would have to count for 100% - but was it really better to rely on a resigned Musketeer, who obviously had his best years behind him, than to trust the men they knew and worked with every day?

"No." d'Herblay shook his head, hands gripping the table tightly. "No. I'm done. I've resigned and I thought I've made it clear to Treville tat I won't come back ever again."

"Listen," Porthos started, "we don't know what happened between you and the Captain and we really don't want to know. But we want to get this Bastard Grimaud once and for all. And we need help to do this. Need from a really, really good sniper." 

Again, d'Herblay shook his head. 

"I would rather be the next target on Grimaud's list than to work for the Musketeers ever again. I'm done. I've seen enough death and took enough lifes for the lifetimes of three Musketeers. I'm done."

Porthos sighed, eyes drifting over dirty dishes by the sink, the ash beside the pack of cigarettes by the stained window, the empty boxes of pills inside the trash can... He would have lived to just leave d'Herblay alone, get this job done without him and forget all of this.. He really did not want this man, with some obvious problems going on, to be part of their plan... But Treville wanted. And Treville would get what he wanted. 

"Listen, we know the job's not easy - we've seen our fair share of shit too - but you know about Grimauf, right?" 

D'Herblay crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded grimly. "I do."

"Then you also know that he has to be dealt with. Don't you?" Porthos noticed the obvious struggle in d'Herblay's eyes, his fingertips digging into his arms as he desperately avoided their gazes. 

As d'Herblay nodded in agreement Porthos could not help but send a hopeful glance towards to Athos. They had him dangling from their hook, they only had to get him onto their boat now. 

"You said Treville had sent you?"  
They nodded in unision.

"Then please deliver him a message from me. Say him, he can go and fuck himself. And now, leave." d'Herbkay pushed himself off the table and walked over to the entrance and ripped the door open. "I am sure you will find another henchman to do your dirty work."

Athos and Porthos shared a short questioning look. They could not leave without d'Herblay, Treville would not be happy. He had been quite clear with his orders.  
'There's no one else who could do this job. Get him into the Garrison. I don't care hwo, but condt come back without d'Herblay.' 

Instead of walking towards the door, which d'Herblay still held open, Porthos wandered over to the full trash can, inspecting the boxes in it. 

"Oh look, Athos. I bet he doesn't have a reciption for any of these pills." Porthos grinned as he fished out an empty box of Pregabalin. 

"Oh I don't think so either, Porthos." Athos added helpfully only to earn a hateful look from d'Herblay as he understood what they were doing.

"You can't arrest me for an empty box of pills." 

"Oh no, we can't." Porthos agreed as he digged deeper in the trash for something else.

"But we can for this." Athos' lips twitched up slightly to a triumphant grin. A small plastic bag with three white pills in it was dangling from his finger tips. D'Herblay paled visible as he had been so concentrated on Porthos that he hadn't noticed Athos vanishing into the bathroom.  
His eyes switched towards the door, but Porthos was faster and had already his gun leveled on him.

"Monsieur D'Herblay you're under arrest for owning illegal substances."

D'Herblay's jaw tensed in anger as Athos stepped closer and grabbed his arm tightly. "Come now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one will probably get a second chapter. Maybe more. I don't know.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Musketeers - Another life (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a AU were only Athos and Porthos are in the Musketeers (takes place before d'Artagnans time) and Aramis... Well he is still Renè, living in a small village, following the line of work of his mother and the only one who can help the Musketeers in finding a slavetrader.

For weeks messengers and letters came to the Louvre, speaking of abducted men and missing children. It wasn't uncommon that people vanished, but not only Treville but also the King and Richelieu noticed that this was and uncommon high number of missing people. Most of these cases had been reported in Southern France, close to the Spanish border. 

As the King got more and more annoyed with all the pleading people in his halls, he ordered Treville to end this once and for all. And so Treville explained the situation to his best men, Porthos and Athos. It took weeks to gather enough information but then, after many nights in shady Inn's or in dark corners of the Court, they finally got a name. Mathieu Mercier. And once they got the name, things went fast. They found out that he often visited a small village close to the border, Gavarnier.  
This is how the two Musketeers found themselves standing on the market place of the small village, a week later, following the last trail they've got of Mercier. /> “This one seems quiet big for such a small village.” Porthos noticed as he glanced the building up and down. There were at least a dozen windows, some open, letting the obscene sounds fill the street, others closed and curtains drawn. 

“Many travellers come through here. So close to the border it’s a common place for traders to stop by.” Athos explained drily. Porthos nodded in understanding.  
“And are we gonna question all employees? This may take a while.”

“No. Only the male ones. Mercier favoured some different kind of entertainment as it seems.”  
Porthos huffed. Of course he did. The more they got to know about Mercier the stranger and this man got.  
“Then let’s have some fun.”

…

Madame Roux, the owner of this fine establishment, had explained to them where to find the rooms for the men who did not search a woman for pleasure. She did not like Musketeers sniffling around in her business but she decided to help them as much as possible so that they would not make a big deal out of this. The last thing she needed was a thorough search in her house. As Mercier had some very special interest, she had advised the Musketeers to knock on the last door to the right, as he usually favoured this employee.  
So, ignoring the lustful gazes of the half-dressed women, Porthos and Athos strode through the corridor only to halt in front of the last door. They strained their ears, but the room behind it seemed to be quiet. Athos knocked firmly and stepped back from the door.  
It opened only seconds later, a young man smiling at them invitingly. A loose robe was wound around his thin but muscles body, not covering enough of his skin to be appropriate. A small silver necklace with a cross on it dangled from his neck. The young man, almost a boy, leaned in the doorframe his dark eyes scanning the soldiers as his lips twitched upwards. They could see what Mercier had seen in this ‘employee’, he was truly attractive. Something that could not be said of most whores. He did not seem to be too worn out by his kind of lifestyle, still healthy and fit.  
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” The young man asked and made sure to show his white teeth as grinned lascivious.  
“We just want to talk.” Porthos started, a little taken aback from the open manner of the whore. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for whores to act like this, but they hadn’t questioned any male ones yet.  
The young man’s brow furrowed slightly as he straightened his back and made some space so they both could enter the room.  
“I’m not sure if talking is cheaper than some action. You can speak this through with Madame Roux.”

“We’re Musketeers, in the King’s business. I am sure we do not need to pay.” Athos muttered as he stepped into the room. Porthos followed and the taken aback young man closed the door behind them. He stayed there, inspecting the two soldiers and their paudrons with open concern on his face.  
“I fear you need to explain to me what exactly you are seeking. I am not sure what you want from me.” He then said honestly. His fingers twitched towards the tie that held his gown closed.  
“Don’t. Don’t undress.” Porthos pleaded, holding his hand up to stop the young man from loosing the last piece of clothing. The man’s hand stopped as he leaned his head to the side, thinking.  
“If I am not to your liking-“  
“We just want information.” Athos stepped in, a little bit annoyed that the man did not get it. His explanation seemed to clear things up a little bit as the man at least stopped undressing and walked over to bed where he sat down slowly.  
“What kind of information can I give to two so attractive, strong Musketeers?” He asked, his teeth slightly biting in his lip as he looked up at him.  
“Can we have your name before we start talking?” Porthos muttered, not liking to speak to someone he didn’t even know the name off.  
The whore grinned at him. “You can call me whatever you like, sweetheart.”

“Name.” Athos’ patients grew thin.  
The man seemed to be taken a back by the rough comment but shrugged it off fast.  
“René.” He answered, truthfully.  
“Good, René. Do you know a man called Mathieu Mercier?” Porthos asked, arms crossed above his chest.  
“Why are you asking? Am I in trouble?” René frowned. He had not been in any contact with King’s Musketeers yet. All he knew about them or any kind of soldier was that they paid bad, were rough and when they just wanted to talk it always meant trouble for the likes like him.  
“We’re not here because of you, René. We’re searching for Mercier and need any kind of information we can get. Madame Roux said that he was your client.”

René sighed and nodded as he drew the gown tighter around himself.  
“He’s been here a few times.”

“When was the last time he has visited you?” Athos questioned. Rene shrugged and opened his mouth to answer until a thought strung him and he grinned up at the two soldiers.  
“If these information are so important, I am sure they are worthy a few coins, hm?” 

Porthos furrowed his brow.  
“You know, we could just arrest you for sodomy.”

René rolled his eyes. “Typical soldiers. Always stingy. Okay… He’d been here three days ago. Hadn’t taken as much time as usually, hasn’t paid either. Just left without saying anything and I haven’t heard of him since then.”

“And has he mentioned that he would leave? Or where he would go?”

René shook his head, brows furrowing as he thought back to their last meetings. His fingers fidgeted with the thin fabric that covered his body.  
“He wasn’t very talk active.”  
The two Musketeers kept asking a few more questions before they decided that René did not know enough to help them. Apparently he truly just was a whore for Mercier, and not how they had hoped, something like a caregiver. As they had arrived quite late in the village, it was already turning dark as they left the brothel, not knowing much more than before. Frustrated, they stomped back to the Inn, where they had placed their horses and belongings, to get a hot meal and some good wine. 

They took a table close to the fireplace, the long journey had made their muscles stiff and sore and the warmth helped to ease the pain. Athos was just sipping at his wine while Porthos gulped down the contents on his plate, as raised voices captured their attention. They shared a short look before turning to the bar, where the shouting came from.  
A broad shouldered man, middle aged with messy hair and a long beard, was shouting at a smaller figure, cornering him against the bar. At first they thought it a normal discussion, until glasses shattered as the smaller figure was pushed against the counter and the bigger man wrapped his hand around the smaller one’s neck. 

They decided to step in, before it could get out of hand. Walking over to the two men carefully, they placed their hands on the hilts of their swords, not drawing them yet but ready to do so if necessary.  
As they came closer they recognized the smaller figure as René, struggling to breath and get free of the tight grip the other man had on him.

“’ey! That’s enough!” Porthos warned and stepped to the one side of the assaulter. Athos came around on the other side, starring the man down. Noticing the many weapons the two men carried, he let go of René.  
“We’re not ready, yet. You will get what you deserve, traitor.” The man spat n front of René’s feet before scurrying away, but not without shooting Athos and Porthos hateful glances.  
René almost collapsed against the counter, trying to catch his breath as his hand rubbed over his burning throat. The skin there was already turning into a bluish shade, showing the handprint of the man.  
As he had caught his breath, René looked at the two Musketeers with worry in his eyes, before covering it with something that was supposed to assembly shame.  
“Thank you, I guess?” He rasped, voice raw and thin. René winced at the pain that it caused in his throat.  
“No problem. What was this about?” Porthos wondered as he searched René for more signs of injuries. Thankfully there were none.  
René shrugged and turned around, ready to leave. “Not everyone likes what I do.”  
“He called you traitor.” Athos frowned. He had a bad feeling about this René and it grew worse with every minute they spent in this village. What could a man like René have done to be assaulted like this and called a traitor?  
René shrugged again, obviously not willing to answer that question, he stepped around them and walked towards the door. “I will turn in for the night.”  
They followed him outside wordlessly, until he turned back around with a raised brow.  
“We’re better guiding you home after what has happened.” Porthos offered with a smug smile. Neither he not Athos trusted this man and they would get behind what was bothering them.  
René did not really have an argument that would persuade them to leave him alone, so he started walking.  
“Who was this man?” Porthos inquired, as he fell into step with the young man. René stared straight ahead as he answered.  
“Pierre Dubois, the blacksmith of Gavarnie. He thought his wife has visited me.”  
“And, did she?”

René shook his head. “I don’t have many female visitors. Madame Roux needs me… for different tastes.”  
“But why is he calling you a traitor? Nothing of this fits together, René.” Athos asks, voice harsh as he gets more and more annoyed with René obvious lies.  
The young man sighs, knowing that he had been cornered. But he couldn’t give in.  
“Believe me or not, I don’t care. That’s the only reasoning you’re getting from me.”  
“And if we arrest you, would you be more talk active then?” Porthos threatens but it doesn’t seem to bother René much.  
“Do what you have to do.” He muttered.  
As they kept on walking and neither Athos nor Porthos made an attempt to arrest him, he grinned slightly. He knew it. He knew that these guys had good hearts, too soft. They did not follow or stop him as he entered the brothel and closed the door between them. 

….  
“I feel like this whole village is against us.”  
Porthos muttered as he stripped from his wet clothes and hang them in front of the fire place. It had been three days since they arrived in Gavarnie and they hadn’t come any further with their investigations. Mercier was still gone and had to be found, there was no information of where he could have vanished to and no one was willing to talk to them.  
“Or scared of Mercier.” Athos thought. They’ve talked to all the people that usually know the gossip of the town – the Innkeeper, blacksmith, traders, bakers, laundresses, whores. But everyone was hesitant to tell them anything about Mercier.  
Even when Athos and Porthos revealed that they already knew that Mercier was a well known slave-trader, the people still acted as if they knew nothing of it. In a small village like Gavarnie, this was very unlikely.  
“Or working for him.” Porthos added and let himself fall down on the bed with a sigh. It wasn’t late enough for them to go to bed, but they had been out in the rain the whole day and he just wanted to lay down and warm up. Athos had different plans. He just changed into dry clothes and warmed his hands over the fire for a short while.  
“We haven’t been at the church yet. Maybe their priest will be willing to reveal something to help these poor souls Mercier abducted.” Porthos nodded his agreement. He shortly thought about going with Athos, but the swordsman had already thrown a blanket into his face with a faint tuck at his lips.  
“Rest. I can handle a priest alone.”

….  
As Athos stepped into the church, it was empty. His footsteps echoed through the small chapel, making it seem much bigger than it actually was. It took him only a few quick strodes through the aisle to reach the altar. There, Athos turned around, eyes searching for the priest.  
The curtain on the right side of the confessional was drawn open, but the other one was closed.  
“Father?” Athos asked carefully as he walked towards the confessional. “Father?”

As no answer came and Athos had reached the small wooden box, he dared to glance under the curtain where it left a small gap towards the ground. He could see the shoes of the priest there, so it irritated hi even more that he didn’t get an answer.  
“Father. I am Athos of the King’s Musketeers and want to discuss a quite important matter with you. If you may step out?”

Still, nothing. Anger and irritation mixed in Athos gut as one hand grabbed the hilt of his rapier while the other one pushed the curtain aside. He let the hand on the rapier fall down, as it would surely be useless now.  
Hunched in the small cabin sat the priest, his eyes and mouth wide open, blood dripping down his chin. His black robe was even darker in the spot around his stomach. A small puddle of the red liquid had gathered underneath him.  
Athos sighed as he looked around the chapel if anyone had came in, but he was still alone.  
As Athos leaned forwards to close the priests eyes and inspect what had caused the wound, he noticed that the man’s hand was curled into a loose fist, a silver band dangling between his fingers. Frowning, Athos pulled the band out of the priests hand to find it to be a necklace with a cross. The lace was ripped apart. It seemed oddly familiar to him but he could not quite place where he had seen it before. Maybe it was just so common and worn by so many that it had became so familiar to him. He shrugged, placed the necklace into his bag and then closed the priests eyes.  
He slightly ripped the robe around the wound open to find it was a stab matching to a knife or dagger.  
As he couldn’t carry the priest alone, Athos decided to first search the church for anything else that could help him find the murderer. After checking the chapel over he vanished in the adjoining rooms. The first seemed to be a small office, with shelves standing on one wall and a small table on the opposite. A candle still burned, so it couldn’t have been too long since someone had been there. On the desk stood a pot of ink a feather laid heedlessly on a piece of paper, leaving a big dark spot on the right side of it. As Athos looked closer at the paper, he found that it had been addressed to them.  
Dear King’s Musketeers,  
I have heard that you are investigating in the case of Pierre Dubois.  
I am writing you because I fear that being seen with you could endanger me.  
My vow forbid’s me to tell you what I’ve been told in the confessional.  
But my heart bleeds with the knowledge and I am sure that God does not want that this sins continue.  
I want to you find the lost souls and bring them back home.  
As I can’t tell you from whom I have heard what, I may can tell you where to search for the answers you seek.  
I am sure Madame Roux and her employees, I am praying for their souls, can help you. 

I hope you have luck with your search and that God will lead you the way.

Athos carefully took the letter and placed it in the bag with the necklace he had found. He briefly closed his eyes. He had the bad feeling that this letter – or more: the knowledge that this letter promises- had killed the father. He’d been the only one who had tried to help and had to pay the price for it.  
….  
“You know I was almost asleep.” Porthos grumbled as the trudged through the muddy streets. He hadn’t been amused as Athos had came back form the church to tell him that the priest had been murdered.  
They were on their way to Madame Roux and to speak to her employees again. This time, they would not leave without more information.  
“You know, I’ve thought about it,” Porthos started, “He’d written ‘God will lead you the way’ hadn’t he?”

Athos nodded, wondering what Porthos could have worked out. “It’s a quiet normal phrase in the church.”  
“I know. But the necklace you’ve found, it was broken, right? And maybe he’d ripped it from his murderers neck, trying to give us a hint.”

“So we just need to find the owner of the necklace.”  
….  
This time Madame Roux wasn’t as willing to help as the last time they had come. She had barely let them enter the building and was now blocking the stairs.  
“We’re having guests! A group of spanish traders has just arrived in the town and my employees have to work! They can’t just stop to have a little chat with you soldiers. What are you thinking? That you can just walk in here and scare away our clients?”

Porthos noticed how Athos’ brows knitted and that he was about to just push the woman aside and get up the stairs, but Porthos held up a calming hand. He understood that these people needed to get their work done. And even though they disliked this kind of work, the employees lived from it.  
“We can wait. Send us whomever is ready.” He answered and pulled Athos towards a small sofa in the corner.

The first workers Madame Roux sent them were young women, but none of them seemed to know anything important. They all knew Mercier but as Porthos and Athos had already figured out, Mercier was rather in for the opposite gender. The next who came down the stairs was René.  
He seemed to be more exhausted than the last time they had seen him. His walk was a bit funny and a fresh cut glistened on his cheekbone. He looked at them warily as he walked over to the chair they had placed in front of them, wincing as he sat down.  
“I’ve already told you that I know nothing.” René started, obviously annoyed. He looked towards the other side of the room where a few men were gathered around a table, eating, drinking and waiting. “I’ve got work to do.”  
Porthos frowned as he took in the poor state the young man was in. “Shouldn’t you rest or something?”

René huffed and avoided their gazes, biting down on his lip. “What do you want?”  
“We’re still searching for Mercier. The priest has-“ Athos stopped mid-sentence as his eyes had landed on René's neck. Between fresh bruises in the form of fingerprints and a hickey, was a sharp red line cut into his neck. And suddenly he remembered. His fingers played with the necklace in his pocket and he could imagine René wearing it at the first time they had met.  
“You’ve killed the priest.” He stated, shocking both Porthos and René.  
Then, against of what Athos would have expected, Renè nodded.  
"I did. But I can explain!" He added hurriedly, as if he was scared that they would kill him on the spot for his crime.  
"We're listening." Porthos muttered as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.  
Renè gulped down the fear as his finger played with the hem of his white shirt.  
"Mathieu wanted it. He'd sent a messenger after he heard that the Priest could be a weak link.. He… forced me to do it. The messenger said that he would take me with him if I didn't obey."  
And so, with a little help of well aimed questions, the Musketeers got a good picture of what exactly had happened. Renè told them everything, shaking with fear and pleading that he would not be arrested.  
Apparently Mercier controlled almost the whole village. Bribing here, threatening there, killing someone if necessary. After he had heard from his contacts that the Musketeers were searching for him, he took his last "delivery goods", also known as poor human beings that were ripped out of there families, and fled towards Spain. He still had his contacts in the village as well as in Paris though and made sure that all that he had built up over the years would not vanish for the time he had to leave. So his contact in Gavarnier informed him of the priest, that was willing to betray him and in return, Mercier wanted him to be killed.  
He probably chose Renè as he was a commoner in the church and no one would suspect him to have something bad in mind when he entered, in contrast to most others of Mercier's men. And as long as Renè wanted to live and be a free man, he had to do as Mercier wanted. He hadn't seen a other way, too scared of the slave trade to dare to betray him.  
"But what I still don't understand is your encounter with this man in the Inn. I assume he had been one of Merciers' men as well?" Athos inquired. 

Rene nodded and sighed. "He had seen you two talking to me earlier and had assumed that I would have betrayed Mathieu. But I had been able to explain myself later and by.. by murdering Father Cecil they believed me again."  
"You should have told us earlier, Renè. We could have helped you."  
René looked down to his fingers, shrugging. "Half the village works for Dubois. You're only two men. I didn't think you could protect me enough. Will you arrest me now?" 

Big brown eyes, with a shine of youth and innocence neither of them had expected from a whore and murderer, looked up at them.  
"Normally, we would have to escort you back to Paris or hand you over to the authorities here. But as Mercier forced you to do it and the search after him is our highest priority…"Porthos started, causing Athos lips to twitch into a slight smile.  
" We can make a small mistake and let you go." Athos finished.  
Renè let out a audible breath, sing slightly at them." Thank you."  
"Oh don't thank us too early. For our little favor we want something in return. You will lead us to Mathieu Mercier. He can't be fast with a whole group of slaves with him."  
All four seemed to drain from Renè's face but he saw that he had no chance. So he nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far. Please excuse the mistakes, if there had been some, as I've written most of this story on my phone. I hope you enjoyed it though.
> 
> There's a follow up planned for this one.


	4. Musketeers - Another life (2/3)

René had not been amused to leave Gavarnier as it meant that he had to stop working for the days the traveling would take, and he really needed the money. But he really had no choice if he wanted the ones he loved to be save.  
So he had packed a few necessary things and changed into more comfortable closes for riding. He sighed, already knowing that hours of riding would do no good to his body, after his last client hadn’t been very gentle with him. But what choice did he have? None, right.  
He was caught in a net of intrigues and lies, sins and sinners having a tight hold on him as he falls deeper and deeper into the dark hole of misery. He just hoped that everything would work out as planned. If not, he could not only loose his freedom but also his loved one. He sent a quick prayer to God, even though he really doubted that he would hear him at this point, and rushed out of the room and towards the Inn, where the Musketeers were already waiting with three saddled horses. 

René put on the mask of innocence and guilt, he was so used to play by now. He was glad that many years working in a brothel had given him the ability to lie and act as much as he wanted to without anyone really noticing.

These two Musketeers really thought that he would lead them to Mercier and allow them to arrest him. If looked at it from the right angle, he even didn’t lie at the first part. He truly brought them to Mercier. But he had already made sure that Mercier would not be the one being arrested.  
Smiling weakly at them, he mounted up and hid a wince at the burn on his backside. He ignored the worried glances of the Musketeers scum and urged the horse forwards. He felt them at his back, following his lead trustingly. He grinned slightly. Mercier will be so pleased with him. Maybe, if everything went right, Mercier would finally fulfil his promises.  
René couldn’t help but smile as he thought of what could be. He would get a own, small house at the edge of the village. Close enough to the marketplace to not feel alone, but private enough for Mercier and him to not having to be too careful. He could stop working, living from a own small garden and owning a little money here and there with his medical knowledge. He already assisted the old doctor of Gavarnier every now and then and could continue to do so more often.  
Mercier would try to stay in the village more often, he had promised. He didn’t want René to feel lonely.  
Before the Musketeers came to town, they had been already so close to this dreamlike reality. Mercier had said that he had already searched for a fitting house and was ready to buy René free from Madame Roux. But then he had to leave, because this stupid soldiers decided to go after him.  
Hopefully, all of this would be over soon. Much sooner, than the Musketeers expected.  
“I think we could catch up with them in about four days.” René announced lightly, the lie slipping of his tongue easily. Porthos and Athos nodded satisfied. Oh, how soon things will change.

…

In the evening they decided to make camp in a small cave, sheltering them from the pouring rain, that had once again started around noon. They were all cold and drenched to the bones as they huddled around the small fire, their clothes hanging on a rope above the fire to dry. In just their braies and shirts they had sat down, wrapping their blankets around them.  
Porthos shot a grin towards Athos, as their civilian companion had fallen asleep right after their meager meal. 

“I don’t think he has ever travelled that much.” Athos mused and sipped on his heated wine with a content smile. During their travel they got to know René closer and felt a twitch of sympathy towards the young man. He’d told them about his life in Gavarnier, how he had been born and raised in the same brothel he now worked in. He hadn’t looked ashamed or anything close to it as he told them about it. He’d raved about his mother, telling them how beautiful and good-hearted she had been. He’d then asked them about their life’s, how they’d become soldiers. While Athos had been more closed about this topic, only giving him some basic information, Porthos told him enthusiastically about his years in the army and how he had worked his way up. He was proud of what he had achieved after he’d had such a hard start in his life. René had then wanted to know about all the placed they’d been, and had asked many questions about them, enthusiasm sparkling in his eyes.  
‘How big is the ocean?’, “Is it true that the Louvre is bigger than most villages?’  
He’d told them that he had never been away from Gavarnier, not even to the villages closest to it. All he knew about the world was from the clients that told him something about their travels.  
“He’s a good guy. A shame that Mercier makes life for this village so hard.” Porthos muttered.  
Athos nodded and stretched his legs out towards the campfire, his eyes scanning the area outside the cave. But besides trees and the heavy rain shower, there was nothing to see. The thick treetops soaked up all the light from the stars and the moon that could have illuminated the area. Only their fire allowed them to see a few feet far.  
Porthos was leaning back against the wall of the cave, eyes already dropping close. “Are you taking first watch, ‘Thos?”

“Of course, mon ami.” Athos smiled, as Porthos fell asleep only minutes later, his snoring echoing from the walls surrounding them.  
Athos hadn’t noticed how sleepy and absent-minded he had become until the neighing of a horse ripped him out of his state and his away from the fire. He scanned the area but couldn’t look far enough, his hand twitching towards his rapier and his foot kicked against Porthos’ to wake him. As most soldiers, Porthos hadn’t slept deeply and roused easily. Noticing the tight look on Athos’ face, he followed his comrades example. René must have felt the change in the atmosphere as he too awoke and sat up slowly. They all stared into the darkness, waiting. Another neigh, their horses had become unsettled.

Then, there were footsteps and the three men leapt towards their feet. Porthos and stood drew their rapiers and stood right in front of the entrance, shielding the civilian with their bodies.  
Out of nowhere, or more likely from the sides of the cave, an area the Musketeers could not oversee, men stepped in front of the entrance. Athos and Porthos raised their weapons in warning, their eyes scanning the situation fast.

Twelve men, all armed to the teeth, against two. They stood no chance. Still, they refused to lay down their weapons as one man stepped forward, grinning at the two Musketeers.  
“I’ve heard you’ve been searching for me.” The man sneered. “May I introduce myself, gentlemen? Mathieu Mercier.” He bowed mockingly.

The man was in his thirties, the dirty blonde hair on his head was cut short and didn't even reach his ears. He was cleanly shaven and his clothes could have been the ones from a minor noble instead of a wanted criminal. 

The Musketeers shared a glance, both confused how the man could have known where they were and reached them so fast. They had been expected to be already close to the spanish border.  
“So we can do this fast and easy and I promise to be easy on you, when you surrender. Or, we do it the hard way.” No one moved, and Porthos and Athos didn’t even think about surrendering as long as they could still fight. They only took a step back into the cave, wanting to use the small space for their favour. Like this, not all men of Mercier could attack them at once and they would be able to still protect René. They were sure that René would not survive if Mercier recognised him. Till now he didn’t even seem to have seen him in the darkness of the cave.  
“So the hard way? What a shame. We could have sold you to a very high price.” Mercier was the first one to attack, followed by two of his men. There was no enough space for more to follow. Athos easily dispatched one soldier and impaled him on his rapier, but the next one followed soon enough. Porthos had a hand full of work with holding Mercier at bay and with killing the third man. It felt like an endless work, for every man they killed or wounded the next arrived. They slowly got exhausted, sweat dripping down their faces and their muscles burned with each blow.  
“Enough!”

Everyone froze as the click of two pistols being unlocked echoed in the small space. Athos and Porthos turned their heads towards the source of the sound, which was behind them to their surprise. For a short moment they admired René’s courage, but they feared that he could miss his targets and injure them instead of the enemies. This moment though, lasted only a few seconds until they noticed on whom the pistols were aimed at. At them.  
“René?” Porthos asked with a frown. The tip of his rapier was still pushed against the sensible skin of the neck of one of Mercier’s men, as he tried to comprehend what was happening.  
René only grinned as he answered.  
“Gentlemen, please don’t be stupid and lay down your weapons. I’ve come to like you somehow and it would be a shame if I had to kill you.”  
Knowing when a fight was over, the two Musketeers let their rapiers fall with reluctance. Immediately there were hands on them, pushing them to their knees and ropes were pulled tightly around their wrists.  
They ignored Mercier, who laughed and walked past them, deeper into the cave, but kept staring at René. “Why?” Porthos asked, not getting why René would do such a thing and betray them. They wanted to help him, free him and his village of this gruesome man. And he fell right into their backs.  
René did not need to talk to give them the needed answer, thought. Mercier had walked towards him and placed a quick, but possessing kiss onto his lips.  
“Good work, René.” He praised before he stepped towards the two kneeling Musketeers.  
“Oh you should see your faces!” He laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t think Musketeers where that stupid. But I won’t complain. Take them to the camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be conitnued...


	5. Musketeers - Another life (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Mentions of Non-Con  
> Descriptions of tried Non-Con  
> in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this had become much longer than thought!  
> Hope you enjoy.

“I can’t believe we’ve been so stupid and have fallen for his lies.” Porthos muttered as he still struggled against his ropes. They’ve been dragged towards a small clearing a few minutes prior, where beside Mercier’s men another group of people had been tethered to a few trees on the other side of the camp. It was a group of fifteen people, men and women and boys and girls that would reach adultery in just a few years.  
Athos had stopped struggling once it had been clear that the ropes were truly tight and secure around their wrists and ankles.  
“I can’t believe he’s so stupid and falls for Mercier’s lies.” He answers, his eyes focused on the group of men around the fire. Mercier sat on a tree trunk, telling his men some kind of humorous story, as the men laughed every now and then. René, who still was convinced that Mercier meant everything he had once promised to him, sat with the other men on the ground, listening with a tight smile. Mercier hadn’t spoken to him or looked at him since they’d arrived at the camp.  
….  
The night was turning late, most men had already laid down by the fire, only the guards and Mercier were still up. And René. He’d rolled from one side to the other but couldn’t find any rest on the hard ground. He’d imagined this somehow different. Mercier hadn’t acknowledged him for hours and René wondered how the next day would work out. He knew that they still had the slaves that would have to be brought over the border, together with the two Musketeers who would meet the same fate as the other people.  
But René had no interest in coming to Spain with the men. He had hoped that Mercier would send his men alone and return to Gavarnier with him. But as they hadn’t have the chance to talk about it yet, he didn’t know what Mathieu had planned.  
As René sat up and looked around the camp, he found that most of the slaves had fallen asleep and even the Musketeers seemed to be out, or at least calmer than before. Mathieu still sat by the fire, looking at a map with a concentrated frown. René smiled slightly and walked over to him, wrapping his arms from behind around his chest. 

“You should go to sleep.” René murmured, his fingertips trailing over the other man’s arms.  
“I’ve got work to do.” Mathieu answered, annoyed. René gulped but didn’t let go yet.  
“Maybe you could use a little break. Some fun.” René breathed. But as his fingers wandered from the arms towards Mathieu’s hips, the man pushed him away with a shake of his shoulder.  
“Leave me alone, I’ve got work to do.”  
René frowned as he stepped around Mathieu to look him in the face. “What’s wrong, Mathieu?”

Mercier was now the one frowning as he glanced René up and down. “There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re disturbing me, that’s all. If I need you – or your body – I will come to you. That’s how it had always worked, why change it?”

René’s throat went dry as his chest constricted. “And what happened with your promises? That I can quit? We’re getting a house together? That everything will change once the Musketeers are eliminated?”

Mathieu huffed and returned towards his map. “You’re a little dreamer, René, you’re always have been.” With that he returned his focus completely back to his work, giving René a dismissive e sign with his hand.  
René took a deep breath to calm down his racing heart and the tears that quelled in his eyes. He walked away with fast steps, to the outer line of the camp.  
Once he had left the camp behind, he stared up into the night sky, blinking away the tears that dared to fall down.  
He felt like his whole life was slipping through his fingers like sand. All the future he had had planned out, was gone, suddenly ripped away. And what was left? His old, shabby, pathetic life, full of pain and disgust. And every now and then a man would walk into his life and give him the illusion of another life, a better one. And the dream would shatter as fast as it had come.  
As footsteps came closer, a last, short spark of hope enlightened. Thinking that Mathieu had gone after him to apologize. But as René turned around with a sad smile on his lips, it wasn’t Mathieu but Paul, one of the Guards.  
“I’ve heard Mercier doesn’t hold his claim for you any longer.” A dangerous grin was placed onto the man’s lips and René, having come into similar situations way too often for his short life, stepped backwards warily.  
“No one has ever had a claim on me.”  
“Cute.” Paul laughed and shook his head. With each step René took back, Paul took two forward.  
René tried to slowly get closer to the camp in the hope that the audience would stop Paul from going further, but he also didn’t dare to turn his back on the man.  
“Oh, don’t act all shy now. We’ve all seen you in the laps of the patrons of the Inn, and I now you’re not picky. And after all I am a pretty good catch, ain’t I?”  
Having suddenly lost all his words, René just shook his head, pleading. He felt his heart race in his chest and stumbled faster backwards until he crashed against a tree. He wasn’t fast enough to sidestep before Paul had reached him and grabbed his arms roughly to hold them above his head.  
“C’mon, make it better for both of us, little slut.” He pressed his body against René, making the man shudder.  
“No, please.” René tried to struggle free, but Paul’s hands just tightened around his wrists and his thigh pressed against his hip.  
As Paul’s others hand slipped into his waistband, René closed his eyes tightly.  
Trying once again to get free but failing again, René took the last option he saw.  
He shouted for Help.  
He only got out the word once before Paul pressed his hand over his mouth, letting René taste the bitter scent of sweat.  
He almost gagged as he bit into the offending hand. Paul grunted in pain but did not let go. Instead he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a tissue which he stuffed into René’s mouth.  
As Paul the ripped René’s trousers open, he resigned to his faith. Silent tears dropped down his face as the dirty hands groped at him. But then, there were angry shouts, stopping Paul in what he was doing. 

It ripped both of them out of the small world they’d been caught in, an René let out a breath through his nose as Paul stopped his touching for a moment to look towards the camp where the noise came from.  
Renè followed his gaze. He hadn’t noticed how close he had managed to come back. Just around the corner were the two Musketeers, their hands and ankles still bound – but they had managed to rip free from the rock they’d been bound to. And just now, René noticed that they were shouting at Paul, ordering him to stop or they would rip him apart.  
The shouting caused the other men in the camp to wake up and walk curiously over to the Musketeers, some were laughing at them, others just watched with interest. Only a few turned around to look at Paul and René, the reason for the commotion. The ones who did, shot a knowing grin towards Paul, but no one really cared for René, who was still caught between his offender and the tree.  
So he felt a tinge of relief as Paul stepped back, obviously annoyed by the unwanted onlookers. Not that René doubted that Paul would do what he had planned even in public, but he guessed, that this was not quite the atmosphere he had wanted.  
Angrily, Paul walked over to the Musketeers, staring them down. They stopped their insults and relaxed slightly against their chains, once they noticed that René was out of danger for once.  
René cautiously walked away from his spot, his legs shaking badly, as he walked towards the other end of the camp, determined to keep as far away from Paul as possible but still wanting to watch what was now going to happen.  
He couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but he saw how Paul leaned in to hiss something towards the Musketeers, before he punched both of them and caused them to tumble back against the rock. Mathieu’s men laughed at this, encouraging Paul to keep going. Grinning at the support, Paul kicked the men until they fell to their knees. René knew that this disgusting creep would not stop his assault any time soon.  
René was not very fond of the Musketeers, but he was thankful that they had stopped Paul from going any further with him. Something, he had to admit, Mathieu had not done, even though he had still been awake. But maybe he hadn’t noticed what was going on?

René felt a weird tinge of guilt as he watched Paul stroke Athos in the face, blood spluttering out of the beaten man’s nose. René looked around, searching for a way to help the Musketeers somehow before Paul would kill them. But there was no need for this. Mathieu was quite protective of his merchandise and could not risk that he could not sell them as highly priced as planned. So he pushed through the small crowd and pulled Paul away from the prisoners, ordering him to stop.  
Grudgly, Paul stopped and the crowd slowly vanished, the men returning to their bedrolls. René watched warily how Paul looked around, until his eyes stopped on René, a grin plastering on his face. René felt his stomach drop and decided that he should get as safe as possible, if he wanted to get through the night untouched. He noticed that Mathieu had returned to his place by the fire and decided to return to his former lover, even though he knew that Mathieu was not really interested in his company right now. But maybe Mathieu had just been in a bad mood earlier and has come back to his senses. René hoped he did.  
He strode over to Mathieu and settled down beside him, noticing that Paul had returned to his bed roll with a grim look, once he noticed that René would not be alone any time soon.  
“What was this about, René?” Mathieu hissed, once René had sat down beside him, filling the younger man with confusion.  
“What do you mean?” René tugged his legs towards his chest, his fingers drawing small circles into the earth. He felt Mathieu’s angry gaze upon him, burning his cheeks.  
“You’re sleeping around now? Like the little slut you are? Don’t you think I haven’t seen you and Paul earlier.”  
René gulped, feeling a twinge of betrayal. Did Mathieu really think that bad of him? That he would cheat on him when they had been in a single fight?  
“No! He – Paul, he forced himself on me. I would never-“ He stopped midsentence as a hard slap against his cheek caused his head to fly to the side, a burning heat spreading in the part where he had been hit. Shocked, he placed his cold hand on his cheek, his eyes searching for an explanation in Mathieu’s face. He watched how it lost the anger and turned to guilt, Mathieu’s soft eyes now taking in the damage he had done.  
“I’m sorry, René. I did not mean to hurt you.” A gentle hand touched his still burning cheek, fingertips running down his skin towards his neck. “Meet me in my tent in a few minutes. I forgive you for what you’ve done with Paul. You can make it up to me.”

René gulped but didn’t answer as Mathieu stood up and winked at him as he walked over to the tent, leaving René with his thoughts alone.  
He was confused at Mathieu’s behaviour. The one second he doesn’t want his company, then he hits him and then he wants to spend the night with him? René knew that Mathieu was a complicated and temperamental man, but it had never been as hard to understand him than tonight.  
“You coming?” Mathieu called from his tent, causing René to get to his feet and follow his call. 

…

“You sure you’re okay?” Porthos asked with a frown. It was hard to see the damage done properly in the dark, but he hadn’t missed the dark liquid running down Athos’ face, and the way his hand cautiously touched his nose every now and then.  
“Just a broken nose. Nothing I haven’t had before.” He answered and tried to inspect Porthos for himself. The bigger man just waved hi off. 

“I’m fine. Only a few bruises.”  
Contently, Athos nodded. If they wanted to escape any time soon, they needed to be as fit and healthy as possible. For their plan it had been stupid to turn the attention of Mercier’s men on them. It was a great risk they had taken and had been glad, that Mercier had stopped the assault on them early enough. On the other side, there had been no way they would have let Mercier’s man go through with what he was doing with René without interfering. Even though René had deceived them, lied to them and was the reason they were in this predicament, he was still a human being who did not deserve to be treated like this.  
It was a question of honour to stop Mercier’s man, not one of sympathy.  
Once they were both sure that the other one was alright, they returned their attention towards the camp. Most men had retired to their bedrolls as if nothing had happened. The only ones still walking around were the guards, Mercier and René. Not long after René had settled down beside Mercier, they watched him take a hit from the leader. They winced in sympathy. The hit had not been a light one, as they’ve heard it clap all the way over to them.  
But even though he seemed to be shocked, René did not refuse the following touch of Mercier, nor his call towards his tent.  
“He’s really blind, isn’t he?” Porthos huffed and shook his head and René stupidness. Could he not see that he was worth nothing to Mercier?  
“I think, he still hopes.” Athos answered, eyes glued to the tent the both men had vanished in. “For a better life.”

“Won’t get it with this bastard.” Porthos sighed. He somehow felt sorry for René. This poor boy had been used and manipulated since his early years. He just wanted a better life, a save one. He somehow remembered him of himself in his younger years. He himself would have done everything to get out of his misery and had been very lucky as Captain Treville had become aware of him. René, obviously, had less luck in his life and so he hold on to the only hope he got. 

…

It was around two hours later, both Musketeers almost dozing off, as there was some movement in the camp again. The tent, which had been occupied by Mercier and René, opened. René stepped out of it on wobbly legs, stumbling away as the flap of the tent closed again. They were wide awake again, as they watched the young man stumble towards the fireplace, which was cooling down by now. His clothes were barely closed, ripped on a few places and he winced as he sat down by the fire.  
“Seems like not everything’s fine in paradise.” Athos observes. When would René notice that he was being used and not loved.  
They watched René for a few minutes, how he sat by the fire and warmed his hands on the ashes, before he turned his head towards them. It was too dark and too far away to read from his mimic what he was thinking, but seconds later he stood up on shaking legs, wrapped his ripped shirt tighter around him and walked over to the a small pile of bags.  
He searched through it and pulled something out of it, before he walked over to them.  
René looked around warily and once he was sure that no one watched them, he kneeled in front of the Musketeers.  
“You should sleep.” He then said, voice shaking slightly even though he tried to keep it as calm as possible. “The next days will be tiring for you.”

“They wouldn’t be, wouldn’t you have betrayed us.” Porthos snapped angrily.  
René flinched at the harsh words but caught himself fast.  
“I’ve got some water and bread for you.” He then said and pulled a waterskin and some dried bread out of the bag and handed both of it over to them.  
“I understand that you’re angry with me, but you should keep your strength.” He added as all he got was dubious looks from the Musketeers. They both held on the water and bread but did not drink or eat any of it.  
“What exactly has Mercier planned for us?” Athos then asked with a frown. If they wanted to escape they needed to know as much as possible.  
René bit his lips as he thought about how he could say it without to enrage the Musketeers further.  
“You will be brought to Spain with the others. An auction will take place in Candanchú, where you will be… given to the highest bidder. I guess Mathieu will try to sell you for hard labour.”  
Porthos growled and tucked slightly on his ropes. “And you will just let it happen? Watch us and all these other innocent people over there get being sold like some animals?!”

René winced and signalled him to speak quieter. He sighed as he avoided their burning gazes. “I’m sorry. But sometimes you have to act selfish for your own good. I couldn’t do anything anyways.”

“And what do you think will happen with you in Candanchú? Do you think Mathieu will really take you back to Gavarnier and care for you?” Athos asked, calmly. It seemed like his eyes looked straight through René’s mask, into the darkness of his soul and gripped tightly at the fear, which he had tried to supress all the time.  
“He’d promised.”

“Haven’t you noticed that he hadn’t cared what has almost happened to you? Who has tried to stop this monster? Mercier or we? How many times as he already lied to you or broken a promise?” René gulped, but did not answer. It felt like Athos was slowly ripping all his hope from him, part by part, and he could watch it crumbling to the ground.  
“How many times has he hurt for you? Like today? Hasn’t cared for you and left you alone afterwards?”

“Stop.” René breathed, as Athos came far too close for what he had tried to oversee and ignore for the whole time. This lingering, sickening feeling in his stomach, which slowly spread towards his chest, swallowing him more and more.

“And do you think, that a man like Mercier, a slave trader and criminal, would not sell everything – or everyone – who could bring him money? Do you really think he would not sell a young, good-looking, experienced boy to whoever pays well enough?”  
“He won’t.” René answered. But his voice betrayed him as fear gripped at his heart. He had this thoughts before but had always pushed them back. He hadn’t dare to think too badly about Mathieu. But now as these thought were voiced by someone else they seemed so clear, so real… so logical. “Would he?” He then asked, big, fearful eyes staring at the two Musketeers.  
“He would.” Porthos confirmed, his voice now gentler than before once he noticed the change in the boys behaviour. He watched how René breath quickened and how his gaze swept from the Musketeers towards the camp and towards the tent, where Mercier was sleeping in.  
“I have to go.” Abruptly as he had arrived, René limbed away and lied down by the fire, his back facing the Musketeers.

…

In the early morning hours the camp came back to life. The men packed their things and saddled the horses, while others secured the prisoners on a long rope, so they would have to walk in rows of two. Their feet were secured as well, making them unable to take too big steps at a time. Porthos and Athos were at the front, behind them the other men, then the women and then the children.  
In front of them rode Mercier, three of his men as well as René, who did not dare to look at anyone. The other men of Mercier were at the back and secured the prisoners on their left and right.  
During their journey, René stared stubbornly onto the reins in between his fingers, trying desperately to ignore the burning pain that spread from his buttocks towards his lower back. Mathieu had really made him regret the encounter with Paul last night. After that, Mathieu hadn’t been gentle either and all the hope René has had left last night, was slowly vanishing after he was pushed out of the tent in ripped clothes. He hadn’t another set of clothes with him and Mathieu did not even think of giving him something new to wear in the next morning. Nor did he care for the obvious pain René was now in.  
At noon they made a break by a small creek, watering the horses and stretching their legs. The prisoners sat down in exhaustion, huddled together to give each other some strength.  
René winced as he dismounted. He let his gaze roam over the small crowd with growing guilt. The children were crying and clinging to some adults, who may or may not had been their parents. The women were weak and exhausted, barely keeping upright, as well as most men. Only some of them, Athos and Porthos as part of this group, tried to not show their weakness, sat as upright as possible and stayed alert.  
As suddenly something hit his backside, and René stumbled a step forwards, he was ripped out of his thoughts. He turned his head to the side to see Paul walking by, grinning at him dirtily.  
“Tonight.” Paul breathed, like a promise, into his ear. His foul smell made René almost gag.  
Once Paul had walked away, joining the other men by the creek, René looked around again. Everyone was somehow busy and exhausted.  
He’d thought about it last night, after the conversation with the Musketeers, had brood over it the whole morning and during the journey. And now, Paul’s ‘promise’ had given him the last push to take action.  
Making sure for one more time that no one observed him, he strode over to the prisoners. He knew he could not stay with them for a long time as it would surely be noticed, but he could walk by casually. Making sure to walk closely to Athos and Porthos, he let fall down a knife and a dagger, which he had taken with him on the journey. Without daring to look at them, he walked further towards the creek.

…

As the small weapons fell to the ground in front of their feet, Athos and Porthos exchanged a short surprised look. They hadn’t really thought that René would help them after all and were wondering if this could be another trap. But for what? Mercier already got what he wanted, so there was no reason – they knew of – to lead them into a trap. Deciding that this may be their best chance at escape, they both grabbed a blade in their bound hands.  
Looking around cautiously, they started freeing their hands and then handed the weapons on the person sitting next to them.  
“Stay quiet, loosen your hand and hand the knife over for the next one. Then follow us.” Athos explained in a hushed tone. They surely would not escape and leave these poor souls behind.  
The Musketeers noticed how René glanced over to them every now and then, as if he made sure that they were alright. Maybe he had seen sense too, after all.  
It took long, anxious minute until all prisoners had managed to free their hands and the dagger and knife were back with the Musketeers. Freeing them from the ropes around their hands was one thing. But before they could run, they had to get free from the ropes around their legs too, without anyone noticing their unusual movements.  
As Athos still thought about a way to do it or a kind of distraction, that would not endanger them further, Porthos made eye contact with René, who sat by the creek with the other men.  
René frowned at him and leant his head to the side in a silent question. Porthos answered with motioning towards the rope around their ankles with a shrug.  
René nodded slightly in understanding before he stood up and limbed over to where the horses stood. Porthos watched him intently as René bound the horses free slowly and then walked back to the other men, where he sat down like nothing had happened.  
However, the horses did not move but René had anticipated this. He hat sat down beside Mercier and was now leaning in a flirting way. Unnoticed, he could grab the pistol that laid disregarded behind the leader. Before anyone could stop him, he send a shot into the air, the sound causing the horses to panic and they fled.  
Immediately, most of Mercier’s men were running after them, while Mercier and two more of his men jumped at René, forced the weapon out of his hand and held him down, angrily.  
During this, Athos had signalled the other prisoners to get free of the ropes and to run towards the forest into a different direction than the horses had fled to. The Musketeers made sure that all of the prisoners were running and out of the immediate danger before wanting to follow them.  
“Wait. We can’t leave him behind.” Porthos grabbed Athos’ arm and nodded towards René who was struggling against Mercier’s men. The leader had now stood up and had taken in the scene. Once he had noticed what René’s true intend had been and saw the slaves running off, he pulled another pistol and pointed it at the Musketeers.  
“You useless whore!” He shouted angrily, kicking René into his ribs roughly before he turned his full focus back to the Musketeers.  
René gasped in pain and tried to curl up, but the tight grip of the other men stopped him from during so.  
“Let him go!” Athos ordered with a stern voice.  
Mercier just laughed and came closer to the Musketeers. “Why should I?”

Athos did not answer, as he really did not have a good reason, that could convince Mercier. Instead, he felt a nudge at his arm from Porthos.  
“He can’t shoot us both. And all their other weapons had been with the horses.”  
Athos nodded in silent understanding and then slowly started to walk towards Mercier, taking his attention onto himself.  
“It’s over, Mercier.”

The slave trader just laughed and shook his head, the gun pointing on Athos. Meanwhile, Porthos slowly walked sideways, trying to get closer to René.  
“Maybe for you. But if you haven’t noticed, I am the one with the weapon.”  
“Then shoot. Kill me and lose all the money you could have made with me.” Athos suggested, coming ever closer and causing Mercier to turn nervous. The man was now so focused on Athos that he did not notice Porthos walk around them in a big circle and towards the two men than held René down.  
“Oh you really think I wouldn’t kill you? After you’ve just let all my property run away?”

Athos was about to answer, as suddenly a tumult behind Mercier distracted them both. Porthos had jumped onto the men, that held René down and was now wrestling with them on the ground.  
Feeling, that he had lost the control over the situation, Mercier did the only thing he could think off and pulled the trigger.  
Athos moved to the side, but not fast enough. The bullet still grazed his shoulder and ripped flesh and muscles away. He grabbed the wounded bodypart with a wince, but once he had noticed that nothing too serious had happened, Athos lunged himself at Mercier and wrestled him down. He used the discarded gun to knock him unconsciousness.  
In the meanwhile, Porthos had strangled one of the men until he did not move any further and was now holding the other one in a headlock.  
René had stood up on shaking legs, sporting a few fresh bruises on his face and holding his left arm protectively to his chest. Athos walked over to him, wanting to make sure that he was not seriously injured.  
Before he could inspect the arm, Athos noticed a change in René’s face as his eyes were opened wide and he called out. “Athos! DOWN!”  
Thanks to his soldier reflexes, Athos did what he was told without thinking over it much. He ducked just in the right moment to feel a blade flying over his head and saw it scattering to the ground in front of René’s feet. Before Athos could stand up again, Mercier, who apparently hadn’t been as knocked out as thought, jumped at the Musketeer and held him to the ground.  
René watched in shock as Mercier strangled Athos. As the young man looked back, he saw that Porthos was still engaged in his fight. Noticing, that Athos would not able to free himself now, he grabbed the dagger by his feet.  
Athos pushed and pulled at the hands wrapped around his throat to no vain. He gasped for air but none would fill his burning lungs.  
Then, suddenly, the hands were gone and the weight from Mercier on his chest as well, as the body fell to his side. A blade was stuck right in his neck, wide, lifeless eyes stared right at Athos as blood trickled down the chin of the now dead criminal.  
Athos started to gasp for air desperately and ended in a coughing fit.  
It was Porthos, who had now finally dealt with the other two men, who watched with a mix of relief, that Athos had been saved, and sorrow, for the disturbed look on René’s face. The young man had sunk to his knees, his face strained in pain, guilt and sorrow as his hands carefully stroke over Mercier’s cheeks.  
“Mi vida.” René whispered, not really caring who watched or heard him, as his shaking fingers closed the man’s eyes. He had killed him. Killed the only man who had ever cared for him. All his hope and light had been in Mathieu. And now he was gone. Because of him.  
And for what?

….

EPILOGUE  
“Age?”  
“21.”  
The Captain raised his brows at the young man in front of him.  
“Real age.”  
“18.” The boy answered and watched how the Captain wrote it down.  
“Place of birth?”  
“Gavarnier.”  
“Name?”

The young man played with the hat in his hands, thinking. He gazed out of the window, seeing Athos and Porthos training in the yard. He thanked them silently for this opportunity, for this new life. After losing everything he’d ever known, he’d decided that he could not stay in Gavarnier any longer. That he needed to start anew. And so he did.  
“Aramis.”  
The Captain looked him up and down again but said nothing to the obvious wrong name. He trusted Athos and Porthos enough to believe them, when they said that this boy was suitable for the Musketeers. Moreover he had seen him fight and shoot and was more than impressed.  
“Welcome in the Musketeers, Aramis.”


	6. Snatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble for the Series "Snatch" with Albert aka Luke Pasqualino as the main character.

It was weird how sometimes everything went how it was supposed to be and you never really thought about much luck you got. Suddenly there is a beautiful woman in your life, there is money in your pockets, you spend your evenings with your friends in a bar and life is just exciting enough to not get bored by it. All this time, you never spend a single thought on how glad you should be.  
Until things go wrong. And trouble seems to be like a avalanche. Once it started rolling it won’t stops, it just takes everything in it’s way with it and gets worse and worse until you see nothing around you any more but the problems.

Albert felt just like this in the moment.

Life had been everything he had every dreamt of, until he had wanted too much. But it had been so tempting.   
It should have been a simple raid on a transporter. Okay maybe not simple, but it should have worked out anyways. There plan had been secure after all. Until it wasn’t.  
There had been just a small, tiny miscalculation and the avalanche started to roll.

Okay, maybe the miscalculation wasn’t as tiny as you might have imagined now.

They’d planned with one transporter and two security cars in front and behind it with two armed security men in each. Indeed there were four security cars and in the transporter were four instead of two men.

This small miscalculation meant that their calculation did not work out as planned. Where it should have been 10 of them against 6 security men, it had changed to 10 of them against twelve securities.   
And as no one had an idea to stop the avalanche, which had started to gain speed with every metre, it started to take them with it.

Vic and Charlie were the first who had been wounded, but they could find shelter in a nearby house before they would have been arrested.   
8 to twelve. Albert now corrected his calculation. And even though he had never been a genius in maths he knew that their chances were steadily sinking.   
Lilly and Lottie were the next who were rendered useless, as the car, with which they had crashed the transporter and now wanted to crash the next car, was crashed against a wall.

6 to twelve.

Albert managed to hit of the security guards, slowing the avalanche marginally. But he was only a small rock on a big cliff.   
He watched with dread as Billy was knocked unconsciously and as Hate’Em wanted to help him, he fell to a bullet in his shoulder.

4 to eleven.

Being obviously better in math than Albert, the three hired robbers, ran. Albert did not look after them and so he did not see if the two security men that followed them succeeded.

1 to 8.

But Albert did not give up. He kept on shooting without really aiming, praying that he would hit someone somehow until his magazine had gone empty.   
The men used the opportunity to circle him. With six guns aimed at him, Albert felt like the avalanche had finally got to him and swallowed him in it’s icy shell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask questions, I don't know either what this is. But it's here now anyways.


	7. Musketeers - Hunger Games AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musketeers / Hunger Games Crossover.
> 
> Athos had won the Hunger Games fro District 12 last years and now watches Aramis take his place in the Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Mentions and graphic descriptions of child death.

Athos sat in a chair, padded with purple silk and carved ornaments in its legs, his gaze fixed on the red liquid in the golden cup, which stood on the table in front of him. The wine splashed against the gold, reaching the rim every now and then but never spilling over. He barely registered the people around him, their excited chatter.  
In the background a TV was on, Ceasar Flickerman’s excited voice beamed through it as he introduced the new tributes. 

“Ours is one of the favourites.”  
Treville, the older man who sat right beside him and had won many years ago, exclaimed. At this, Athos lifted his gaze shortly as the TV and huffed. Of course, he was. The boy from the District was certainly good looking, charming as well. But it may could be helpful to be a favourite for the media, but it wasn’t enough. Athos was the best example that the people didn’t have to like love you in order to win the Games.

“He will be dead not even five minutes into the Games.” 

He answered drily. He did not really care though. It didn’t matter from which district the winner came; it didn’t matter who won. All that mattered that another twenty-three citizens will die for the sake of the Capitol. And one will live to carry the burden of the Winner. For a short moment Athos was jealous of the good-looking new tribute. He would die soon; he won’t have to live with the aftermaths of his deeds. He will be free. 

Treville huffed in answer. He saw the same picture as Athos, saw the soft features of the tribute who was barely sixteen years old. Moreover, the other tributes weren’t dumb. They would hold together and fight the media’s favourites at first, eliminating the biggest thread before they would turn against each other.  
‘Aramis’, the name of their tribute, would be all on his own. Not even the other tribute from District 12, a beautiful young girl named Isabelle, will be on his side. It would be her death. She would have to side with someone strong, someone who could fight for her. Isabelle would have to rely on someone else and then kill her ally in the sleep. If she even should live that far. Athos doubted this deeply.  
It would not be a winning year for District 12 this time. He should have known that before. The chances were too low that 12 would win two times right after another. He sighed, glancing at Treville. How many years did he have to wait, go through this again and again. Treville had to endure all of this over twenty times and he was still sane. Athos didn’t think he could do the same. They needed a new Winner soon, someone who could take his place so he could live in peace and completely forgotten from the rest of the world.

\---

The next days went over in a haze. Athos barely followed the events nor the Games. He went where he was expected to be but did not do a thing more than necessary. He was thankful that Treville was still there. They’d probably known that Athos would not be capable enough. And they’d been right.  
He didn’t like all these parties and people, didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to search for sponsors for their tributes. Why should he even bother?  
And he was right. The Games had just started, everyone had run over to the weapons and hid in the thick forest and Isabelle had made her first mistake. She should just have hidden and prayed that no one would find her. But she’d run until she ran into the tributes from 4. One stab and the blade had ripped her heart apart. At least a swift death.  
Already thinking that Aramis would find the same fate soon, Athos watched the screen a while longer. They didn’t bother to show the lone tribute from 12 long but it was enough to see that he had only grabbed a knife at the edge of the weapon pile. He’d then ran in the opposite direction.  
And how he’d ran. He was fast and untiring, surprising Athos with his stamina. Aramis had found a tree with thick branches and climbed up to it. Of course he would have to hide with just a knife as a weapon. 

What Athos hadn’t expected was for the boy to cut a few branches and carving them into a bow and a few arrows in mere minutes. Swift fingers, Athos noticed. This boy had already more talents than he would have expected.

Having been surprised already two times by him, Athos soon found himself intrigued by the Games. He’d sat down in one of the purple chairs, the wine in his hand completely forgotten as he followed the show. He felt a twinge of hope as the other tributes killed each other, while Aramis was still safe and sound with a self-made weapon high in the trees. Maybe he stood a chance after all.

\--

On the third day, the whole twelfth District sat frozen, watching the Games with wide eyes and a dry mouth.  
District two and three had started to work together, all four of them still alive. Then there were only Michael, the boy from 5, and Aramis left. Aramis has barely left the trees. But he hadn’t hidden in the usual kind of way. He didn’t care if he was seen, he just needed a good angle. Athos was in awe with the accuracy of his shots. He hadn’t wasted a single arrow. All four of them had found their way right in the heart of their targets. There had only been one time that Aramis hadn’t killed his opponents. The tributes from 2 and 3 had found him yesterday. Before he could make his shot, they’d thrown their knife’s after him. After having killed half of the tributes by themselves there were more than enough weapons between the alleys. Aramis had decided that he would not stand a realistic chance like this so he’d jumped from tree to tree, elegantly avoiding the sharp blades until the assault had stopped and he was save again.

And even though he’d avoided to be cut, a hilt of a dagger had still hit him against the head, leaving a gaping wound on his brow. Athos couldn’t quite tell how bad it was, but he saw how the boy blinked more often and hold tighter onto the branches. As hunger had overcome Aramis he’d tried to shoot a bird with his bow, but had missed. The wound must have been worse than expected. After this, Aramis has changed tactics. He’d left the trees and moved through the forest on its ground, just as silently and unseen as before. A sponsor had sent him bandages and something to clean his wounds, but it didn’t seem to be enough to help the aftereffects of the injury. 

More often Aramis had to hold himself up on a tree, he’s already vomited three times and fell even more.  
Completely on his own and down on the ground, he did not dare to sleep. Which meant he could hold on like this not much longer. If he wanted to live, he would have to end the Games soon.  
Aramis seemed to be aware of this just as Athos. In the night, he found the camp of 2 and three. Two of them were asleep, the other two stood guard.  
Silence took over the room where Athos sat. Treville, Constance and all the other people he did not really know, were fixed on the scene, not even daring to breath as they watched Aramis eye his bow with uncertainty. Normally, he could have taken out the Guards with two swift shots without anyone even noticing it. 

But as his eyes fell on his shaking hand, he and everyone else knew, that he could not do it now.  
Instead, he lied down and crawled through the undergrowth. He kept his knife in one hand and crawled closer until he was hidden inside a bush. He waited for Guard number one to pass, pulled at his ankle and before the boy even hit the floor, he’d buried the knife in the tribute’s chest. He didn’t even had the chance to call out for help. But knowing that the absence of one of them would soon be noticed, Aramis ran away from the camp to make a big curve and hide on the other side of the camp.  
Just as he’d found a good hiding-place, he heard the shouts from the camp. 

Killing the next one, was far too easy. The three alleys had separated to search for him, and he could kill Guard number two in an equal way as the first one. Only as they noticed that another of them was dead, the remaining two regrouped. This time, Aramis knew, he had to fight.

He sprung out from where had hidden and attacked the first one, who was armed with an axe. Aramis opponent was taller than he was and stronger, grinning as the smaller tribute ran up to him, armed with only a knife. Aramis shortly glanced to the side, making sure that the other one was still a few metres away and could not kill him right away.  
Deciding that it would be far too dangerous to come too close to the much stronger axe-swinging opponent, Aramis had to rely on his battered marksmanship. But now he was close enough to even hit his opponent with closed eyes, so he took the chance and threw his knife. It didn’t hit dead centre, but it was enough to leave the other boy gasping and gurgling, sinking to his knees. Aramis was about to grab the now discarded Axe, as a sudden burning pain erupted in his shoulder. He couldn’t help but scream at the sudden impact, but he hadn’t enough time to concentrate on the pain. Whatever was now stuck in his flesh and muscles, was ripped out merciless. Aramis could have sunk together in pain, but adrenaline was keeping him upright. He managed to take a gip around the Axe in time and swirled around, hitting blindly at the opponent who must have been standing behind him. The Axe collided with a bloodied sword. His own blood, Aramis noticed.  
Due to the wound, he didn’t dare to take the Axe in his right hand, fearing that his arm would not be able to hold it. So, he had to rely on his weaker, left hand, swinging the Axe around like a club. His opponent was of District 12, tall and broad shouldered. But what Aramis lacked in strength he made up with speed and agility. Soon he was dancing around the tribute, ducking and jumping around and waiting for the right opportunity. He made a bluff to move to his left but then moved to the right. His opponent had already tried to hit to the left and was now too slow to block Aramis hit. He wasn’t strong enough with his left hand to hit bone, but the Axe sunk into the flesh, nevertheless. Knowing that this would not be enough, Aramis elbowed his opponent in the face, causing him to fall to his knees. This was enough to allow Aramis to pull the Axe out of his opponent’s side and bury it in his skull.

He almost gagged at the sickening sound the blade made as it collided with bone, causing blood and brain to spill out of the skull.  
Exhausted and in pain, Aramis stumbled backwards, the adrenaline slowly leaving his veins. He stared at the small massacre around him and glanced down on his shaking, bloodied hands.

“Keep moving.” Athos hissed.  
They were so close. Only the young boy Michael was left. He’d only survived by hiding, having only reached the age of twelve he was the youngest there. He’d killed Kyla of  
District 7 out of luck, as he thrown rocks, but other than that, he’d only hid away and waited.  
It seemed like Aramis had heard him. He forced his legs underneath him and stumbled away from the gruesome scene. He kept his right arm close to his body, his steps uncertain and wobbly, but he kept moving. He kept the Axe tightly in his left hand, breath panting as he stayed barely conscious.  
Finding Michael was far too easy. Aramis had not even started searching, too lost in his own world of pain and disgust, as he noticed the small figure by the stream. Michael was currently drinking, looking around wildly, scared. 

Aramis paused in his movements, staring at the boy, then at his Axe and back at the boy.  
As Michael noticed him, he jumped to his feet, a bladed staff that seemed far too big for the small body. His eyes were wide with fear, but his grip around the weapon was strong and determined. He had known that he could not run and hide forever. And now that everyone else was dead, Michael would have to fight.  
Aramis gulped at the unreal scene. Such a small boy and he was supposed to kill him? He wasn’t sure if he could.

“Oh, come on, he’s not starting to get a conscience right now, is he?” Constance asked, but there was more worry than annoyance in her voice. Aramis had to kill Michael, there was no other way, he could not get weak now.

Aramis was not the first to make a move. 

Having gathered all his courage, Michael let out a battle shout and ran at Aramis, a blade of the staff pointed right at the older boy.  
Aramis’ eyes widened in surprise and he simply took a step to the side to avoid being impaled. Having been too motivated, Michael ran right past Aramis.  
The older boy had gathered his senses and had made a decision in half a moment. If he had to kill Michael, it should be painless at least. He used the short moment in which Michael had his back turned to him, to grab the Axe in both his hands. Aramis tried to ignore the overwhelming pain in his shoulder as he swung the weapon with all his strength. He closed his eyes as it connected with Michael’s neck. The boy’s body could not withstand the power of the blade, and with a sickening feeling Aramis felt how easy it glided through the body, followed by a dull thud.  
Almost too scared of what he would see, Aramis forced his eyes open, forced himself to see what he’d done. Michael’s body laid on the ground lifelessly, his head right beside him.  
It was the moment in which Aramis looked into the boys’ empty eyes that his strength left him, and blackness enveloped him. 

Athos felt relieved and he felt bad for feeling like this. He was glad that Aramis had won not for the tribute’s sake but for his own. He was glad that Aramis would soon take his place and that someone else would have to go through all this shit instead of he himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know where this idea came from but it's here.  
> I hope you enjoy.  
> I'm always happy over comments and reviews!


	8. The loss

He could not watch.  
He felt like he should, like he owed this to Gilliam. The one and only person who's always cared for him. But he could not. As the gun was lifted to his father figures head, he ducked away and closed his eyes tightly. Hid behind Curtis like a small, fearful child. Gilliam would be disappointed about his cowardice, but he could not help it. As the sound of a gun going loose filled the room, he let out a silent cry of pain. He did not need to look to know what had happened and in this moment, it felt like the bullet had ripped through his own heart instead of Gilliam's head.

He was truly alone now. He was away from the end of the train, the only home he'd always known. Alone, without anyone who bothered to talk to him, no one there who tried to understand him, in a strange world. He felt his hands shake and his chest shake, tears dwelling up in his eyes as fond memories of Gilliam and him flooded his mind. How he helped the old man get on his stump, how Gilliam thought him how to fight and how to read to know what his tattoos meant.

The only constant of his life was gone.

"We've got to go!" It was Curtis voice that ripped him out of his trance. A rough hand on his arm that forced him to take a few steps towards the next wagon, further away from home.

He didn't want to go.  
All he wanted was to run back home, cradle Gilliam in his arms and cry.

But he knew that was not an option. And Grey also knew that Gilliam would not tolerate such a behavior. He wouldn't have wanted to die for nothing. He would have wanted Grey to. Keep moving, keep fighting. Do what he was best at, do what he was born to do and kill their enemies.

So he stumbled after Curtis, feeling dizzy and disorientated in this other part of their world. Only the constant rattle of the train on the rails was familiar and managed to ground him somewhat.

The next few minutes or hours, he wasn't sure, flew by in a blurred mix of screams and blood and burning muscles. He barely noticed the cuts and bruises covering his skin, didn't feel the throbbing of his broken fingers nor the constant flood of blood out of his thigh. His focus was on Curtis now. Gilliam had told him to follow his orders, to follow the leader wherever he went. To protect him. And that was what he did.

Gilliam words, ''Keep Curtis save. He has to make it through." repeated thenselves in his head again and again like a mantra. It was the only thing keeping him from giving in to the pain washing over his body, the only thing forcing his muscles to fight. 

So he fought with all he had. And as Curtis laid on the floor, unconscious and helpless, his hand was the only thing in between the knife and Curtis throat. If he could, he would have screamed as the blade sunk through flesh, muscles and bones, impalling itself in his hand. But he could not dwell on the pain, not as long as Curtis was in danger. 

He didn't know how, but he managed to get the attacker off Curtis, blade still stuck in his head. But, the uncoordinated act of pulling the attacker away, left him stumbling and unable to stop his opponent from twisting his arm in a sickening way.  
Grey grunted as flames of pain rushed through his arm, indicating that it probably was broken. He felt bile rise in his throat and needed all his concentration to not throw up right there and now. Dizziness overcame him and he couldn't stop his attacker from pushing him against the wall, gripping his wrist and trying to stab him with the blade that was still inside his own hand.

Grey could not push the man away with his broken arm, nor could he put much strength in his impaled hand. Just as the tip of the blade pushed against his chest, as Grey already believed that this was the end, he noticed movement in the background.

Curtis had regained consciousness and pulled the attacker away, rendering him lifeless with a few hard kicks against the head.

It was then, as Grey and Curtis were all alone, that the younger man allowed the pain to consume him. With silent sobs, weird sounds leaving his throat, tears streaming down his face, Grey sunk to the flow, cradling his hand against his chest while his arm hang uselessly to his side.

He wanted to ask Curtis to end his pain, stop his suffering and to bring him to Gilliam. But he could not. All that came out were strangles noises that causes Curtis to look at him with pity. Grey hated it. Either the people did not look at him at all or they looked at him with pity. The poor boy without a tongue. He didn't want their pity or their help. Especially not Curtis'. 

He wanted to protest as the older man helped him up and lead him towards the first wagons of the train. 

Grey never wanted a revolution. Never wanted to see what laid behind the thick iron walls of the end of the train. 

All he wanted was to go back home.


End file.
